Page 12 of Sinner's Ransom: Taken
Montgomery’s stomach clenched, an unwavering sickness taking hold of him. The urge to vomit rose uncontrollably, and he doubled over beside the table, emptying his stomach onto the floor near Stone’s black boots.
Stone managed to step out of the way before anything could land on them, but the old guy—George, Stone had called him—didn’t have the time. Vomit splattered across his sleek shoes.
George reared back from his chair, nearly toppling it over in his hurry to stand. “Jesus H. Christ!”
Montgomery’s stomach protested and he wasn’t finished. It rebelled again, and he upchucked another load of vomit until he had nothing left, leaving him dry heaving.
Stone tilted his head and squinted. “Lovely.”
George muttered something Montgomery couldn’t hear as he stormed over to the sink, snatching a cloth from beside it and dumping water onto it from the tap. He cleaned furiously at his shoes, his glare switching between Montgomery and the mess he was cleaning up.
Montgomery dropped his head in his hands, groaning. Even though he’d emptied everything from his belly, a wave of sickness taunted him, alongside the fear and anxiety. Was he going to die? Fuck. He hadn’t done half the things he wanted in his life. This couldn’t be the end.
“Stop being a drama queen.” Stone grabbed a fistful of Montgomery’s hair, tugging at it until he stood, letting out a hiss of pain as he went. “George, clean this mess up.”
“Me?” George folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. Now he stood, Montgomery noticed the fancy clothes he wore. He had ankle-length pants, clearly custom fitted to his body, and a button-up silk shirt. Expensive was probably an understatement. With his short sleeves, Montgomery noticed a long, thick scar that ran up the length of his arm. It looked like it must have been ugly and painful when it happened. “I’m not your maid. I should get this little punk to lick it up.”
Stone snorted. “Just clean it.” With his fingers still wound tightly in Montgomery’s hair, he tugged him, leading him toward the stairs again.
“What are you going to do with him?” George called, but Stone evidently chose to ignore it.
They ascended the same stairs they’d come down from before. With each tug, Montgomery whimpered in pain, a warm feeling settling in his belly. He didn’t know how to explain it, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Every bite of pain made the warmness grow, until it felt like fire, blazing and hot, and the feeling traveled south to his cock and balls. Luckily, Stone didn’t seem to notice as he shoved him inside a room near the end of the upstairs hallway.
Montgomery stumbled inside, catching himself on a single chair that sat in the middle of the room. He covered his crotch as inconspicuously as he could and swallowed, glancing at Stone.
Stone shut the door, flipping the lock into place, and waved his hand in the direction of the chair.
“Sit down. Now.”
Montgomery stiffened. “No.”
Stone had been making his way over to the right side of the room when Montgomery said it. He paused and looked at him. Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. “Did you just tell me no?”
Montgomery’s words sounded more confident than he felt. He wiggled his wrists, but to no avail. They were really beginning to hurt now, with the duct tape digging into his skin. It almost felt like it was cutting off his circulation. Why couldn’t they have taped over his suit sleeves? “That’s exactly what I said.” He took a step forward. “I’m not going to play your game. If you’re going to kill me, just do it, otherwise, let me go. Richard isn’t going to pay to get me back.”
Stone crossed his arms. The material of his T-shirt stretched around his arms with the tenseness of his muscles. Something glinted around his neck. A chain tucked into his shirt. “He paid off people for you before.”
“Because he had no choice. I was there, and I wasn’t going away. Everything I did reflected on him and his business. This kidnapping thing works in his favor. He can finally get rid of me and not look bad. Hell, people may even sympathize with him. Poor Richard Booker, lost his son to criminals who wanted money.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m nothing to him, and you’re not getting a cent.”
Stone stalked closer and shoved his chest, sending Montgomery sprawling onto the chair. He grabbed Montgomery’s taped wrists and pulled out a flip knife from his pocket. He pressed the exposed blade against Montgomery’s little finger on his left hand, a cold fury dancing in his gaze. It was the first emotion other than calm that Montgomery had seen on Stone, and dread clamped at his heart, making his breath stutter.
“Maybe he needs a little encouragement. A finger. Do you think that will work?”
The sharp bite of the knife against Montgomery’s skin made him still, afraid to breathe in case Stone chopped his finger clean off. “I don’t think you get it.Nothingwill convince him to pay a large sum of money. Let me guess, you’re asking for a couple of million.”
“Ten,” Stone said carefully.
Montgomery laughed. He didn’t tear his eyes away from the knife, though. “You’re not going to get one million from him, let alone ten.” He raised his gaze to meet Stone’s and swallowed. “But maybe I can get you thirty.”
“Thirty thousand?” Stone snorted. His leaning position made the chain slip out of his shirt, and Montgomery caught sight of some kind of key at the end of it. Curiosity made him narrow his eyes on it. What did it open? “That won’t buy us jack shit.”
He shook his head quickly. “No, thirtymillion.”
“You just said that he wouldn’t give us one, let alone ten. How are you going to get us thirty?”
Montgomery nodded at the flip blade. “Get that knife away from me, and I might talk.”
Stone glanced between the knife and Montgomery’s face, as though he was thinking about it, before he flipped the blade closed and shoved it back into his pocket. He took a step away. “Talk.”
